


it's always been a matter of trust

by Skyepilot



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Awkward Flirting, Clothing Kink, Coulson has a nice ass, Coulson thinks about Daisy's legs, Daisy feels, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Time, French Kissing, Humor, Inhumans (Marvel), Kissing, Porn With Feels, Research, Resolved Sexual Tension, SSR files, Sexual Humor, Shipscuses, Speculation, The Monolith - Freeform, Tying ties, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Which I feel is canon, awkward meaningful stares, daisy's mother issues, hitting on each other, i guess, mentions of past relationships - Freeform, research with makeouts!, the babes admitting they fantasized about each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-24 01:05:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6136126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyepilot/pseuds/Skyepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Porn with feels.  Daisy is getting distracted by the idea of Phil abandoning his suits while they dig through SSR files.  Set during S3b.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's always been a matter of trust

#

She has to admit, she’s always been curious.

First of all, the suits.

Which, in her mind had always been associated with authority.

And people hiding important things. Ever since she had watched the news growing up in so many foster homes, and found out people in suits were very comfortable with lying.

When she had found out from one of the nuns that men in suits first brought her to St. Agnes.

That’s when it all started, she guesses.

Then she met _him_ and her mind changed about suits.  Possibly for good.

One day he stopped wearing them, though. Mostly.  Practical reasons, she imagines.

Her mother’s scheme took his hand and she never even got to help him with his tie.  Not once.

She should feel bad for even daring to think about it like that, and it only came up again in her mind when she’d watched Roz do it.

Which also makes her feel bad, for him, even though there’s nothing that can ever convince her that locking people away just for being born different is some version of right.

Cosmic unfairness.

She looks over at him, trying to steal a glance, and she’s caught off guard to find him watching her.

His expression is somewhat stern, like it has been these past few months, but the combination of where her mind was at and the intensity of his gaze is blaring one word in her mind.

Caught.

“Is that…interesting reading?” he asks her bluntly.

It’s obvious he knows she’s distracted, but she closes the file in her hands and then acts officially busy as she pushes it back down into the box.

“Not really,” she says casually and tosses her head back to look at the file in his hand. “Yours?”

“Nothing,” he replies, exasperated, and slaps it down onto the old wooden table next to his open box.

They’re supposed to be in here looking through old SSR files about Malick’s creature, and not reminiscing about fantasizing about what their boss looks like beneath his suits that he doesn’t even wear anymore.

Pushing the thought away with a shut of her eyes and a press of her fingers against the bridge of her nose, she asks, “Remember when I tried to push for digital conversion?”

“Remember when I told you we don’t have the manpower yet?” he retorts.  “Unless, you’d like your Secret Warriors to do some secret scanning.”

He gives her that face, then turns around and replaces the box only to lift another, making a careful grip with his prosthetic before moving it onto the table.

It’s not like he has to wear his dress shirts _that_ fitted.  What’s wrong with him?

She can see the muscles working in his arms even through the fabric. And he’s got the sleeves rolled up.

It almost reminds her of when they used to work late in his office.  Just the two of them designing ops.

See? This is how she gets in trouble.  When impulsive ideas start to kick in and it’s not like she doesn’t already have a healthy fantasy life to work with, thanks.

She’s busy, that’s all.  They’re doing important work.

 _Stress._   It’s stress.  And things were stressful before, too, and she has even more responsibility now, and it’s not like her personal life exactly took off-

“I think I’ve found something.”

Setting down the file in her hands, she walks over to where he’s standing and looks over his shoulder to follow along.

“The Monolith,” she says out loud.  “From when it was recovered in Yucatán in the late 1800s,” she says looking at the dig sketch.  “Can you translate it?”

“This SSR file is from 1945,” he answers. “That’s when Carter captured Whitehall’s stronghold in Austria.”

“But HYDRA had it in their possession at Gloucestershire, which pre-dates it by a decade.  Someone took it from them.”

“Or hid it from Hitler’s treasure hunters.”

“Same thing. What if someone Inhuman buried it?” she asks excitedly. “The scroll that was with it said ‘Maveth’ as a warning.”

He’s looking at her like he’s reading her mind. “If you go through your mother’s things, please-“

“Be careful, I know,” she tells him, reaching for the file to take it from him. He holds on to it.

“I’ll finish reading up on this.  Let me know what you find out.”

 

 

#

It would be possible to blame herself for what happened to Andrew, but he’d been the one who insisted at looking through Jiaying’s effects.

He was trying to be kind. She wasn’t ready yet and had no idea what would happen.

And now…

She opens the book and realizes she’s holding her breath, lets it go when nothing happens.

Her mom wasn’t evil, just twisted.  The tiny part of her that hopes, that believes that Andrew will be saved from this thing forced upon him, also hopes to find something more that leads to her mother having done the right thing. 

To her knowing her mother _is_ that woman.

There’s a relative window of time to work with now, to see if there are any mentions here of a specific event, any small detail connecting the Inhumans to this.

This could go a lot faster if she just scanned it and then she could use a search and shorten the workload.

Yet, her mother touched this book.  Held it in her hands, over and over again for centuries, by the looks of it.

She brings her fingers against her mouth for a moment, realizing how much she wishes that her mother was here to make sense of all of this.

Instead of the way things had ended.

Lifting her eyes she absorbs the tears threatening to form and then gets back to work.

 

#

Hours later she realizes that she’s hungry, and even though she doesn’t feel like eating, she has to.

The possible connection she’s made today has her feeling elated. She still needs verify it, and process it, of course.

There are a few notes here and what she really wants to do is just grab something fast like a bowl of cereal and get a hold of that file.

He wouldn’t leave something sensitive like that in his office, though, and it’s late.  He’s probably going to be doing some night reading.

She stops at his quarters and lifts her knuckles to his door, then hesitates.

This is the first time she’s ever stopped by his personal space.  And it’s well past midnight.

Her eyes look up one side of the corridor and down the other, and she shakes her head at her herself.

“It’s official business.”

She raps on the door lightly, and then waits.

The last time she saw him at this hour was when he was carving, wearing a t-shirt and sweats.

Back then she was so worried about him that she hadn’t put a lot of thought into that. He wasn’t exactly himself all the way.

Okay.  A lie.  She maybe _did_ notice a few details, only written on her mind in the most basic, clinical way.  She’d been ordered to assess his general physical and mental condition, after all.

She blinks when the door opens and sees Coulson peering at her through the opening.

“Daisy.  It’s late.”  He doesn’t sound sleepy, though.

“Yeah, I know. I was hoping I could have the file?” she asks casually.

“Be my guest,” he tells her, opening the door wider.

She peeks inside awkwardly as he motions her in and then looks around the room.

It’s very neat.  Really neat, except for the deconstructed file on a small table off to the side.

“Sorry,” he says, walking past her towards it.  “I took it apart.”

He puts the tips of his fingers against one of the loose pieces of paper and turns it, staring back down at it with a tilt of his head, before he starts arranging the papers.

While wearing those sweatpants.  Yeah, her mind is registering the same detail, so her recollection must be really astute.

Phil has a really nice a-

“Do you mind?”

“Hmm?” she asks with a flutter, meeting his eyes. “I can come back in the morning, if that’s better?”

“Alright, you don’t have to look at it,” he says, a little disappointed.

“The file,” she confirms.

“I took it apart for a reason,” he answers, gesturing to the table in front of him.

“Right,” she says and comes to stand next to his shoulder to see the connection between the images.

“This symbol,” she says, pointing down at the familiar circular shape on one.  “It’s been defaced in all the sketches, like they were trying to erase it.”

“Someone really didn’t want that thing coming back,” he mutters.

“It might’ve been my mother,” she says, pulling the tablet away from her chest to show it to him for a moment, but he’s not really looking at it.

“I know that would mean a lot to you,” he says softly.

“Don’t get my hopes up, though, right?”

“Your father said that your mother wasn’t always that way, Daisy. What if, in one form or another, she encountered HYDRA many times?”

“You really think that?” she breathes out, startled at the sudden revelation he wants to talk to her about this.

“I think it’s possible.”

She wants to share her gratitude rather than just let them keep staring at each other like this and shifts so that her knee manages to collide with his.

“It’s late and here I am debriefing in my pajamas,” he says quickly, gathering the papers into the file and closing it.

“At least you’re not debriefing at your own debriefing.”

He gives her a warning look and hands the file over to her.

“Besides, it’s not like I’ve never seen you in your pajamas before,” she reminds him as she takes it.

“They’re really just sweatpants. And a t-shirt,” he corrects, gesturing to himself for a moment before resting a hand on his hip. “Not pajamas.”

“Okay,” she agrees, then adds sincerely. “Thank you.  For what you said.”

She leans forward with an arm to hug him, but he doesn’t exactly embrace her back.

They haven’t done this in a while and she feels a little foolish for getting sucked in easily to the familiarity of it, so she pulls away to possibly run for the door when his hand against her back stops her.

Somehow they’ve missed each other again, and she’s ready to bolt just as he’s catching up. Frozen in place and he’s holding her.

He looks so surprised and little lost that she leans forward again and slowly hugs him against her, feeling him fit his face against her cheek with a small sigh.

It makes her wish she wasn’t holding onto this file and pad, so she could hold him back just as tightly.

“We can talk more tomorrow,” he tells her as she turns towards the door.

“I’d like to keep the stuff with my mom personal, for now?” she requests.  “Just in case.”

He nods at her. “Goodnight.”

 

 

#

She regrets it in the morning that she forgets to eat, and has to watch Hunter make faces at her as she downs several bowls of cereal for breakfast.

“I should make more coffee,” he points out. “Before you drink it all.”

“Put it on my tab,” she says with a snarky smile through a mouthful of cereal.

He gets up to go do just that, and she sees Coulson pass through the hallway on the way up the stairs to the office.

Normally she wouldn’t notice, but he’s wearing jeans and a sweater and she’s pretty sure she hasn’t seen him in a sweater before.

When he isn’t going undercover.

She has a lot of catch-up to do after yesterday and she won’t be able to get to any of her research until later.

It’s a good thing she’s a professional, though. She won’t be thrown off by a sweater.

 

 

#

She doesn’t think about sweaters until later that evening.

Much later, in fact, after she’s peeling off her field jacket and eyeing the small cut on her bicep.

It’s always fun when the Inhuman you’re trying to protect isn’t interested in protecting you, she thinks, as she wiggles her finger though the hole in her suit.

Pretty much always a red flag at this point.

Not that it’s happened a whole lot. Dwight the IT guy sort of counts.

And nothing stings more at the moment than an Inhuman choosing Team HYDRA.

It spurns her to head up to the office where the light is still on and find Coulson with a concerned expression, looking up from the file he borrowed back.

The idea that maybe her mission and her mother’s are the same.

“Mack told me what happened,” he says, standing. “Are you okay?”

“What I am, is pissed,” she answers, wrapping her hands around her bare arms.

“I have scotch for that,” he replies, motioning towards the shelf behind his desk.

“Please don’t tell me this is about to get worse,” she groans, flopping down in the chair across from his desk.

“Did I give that impression?” he asks, picking up the file and coming to sit down in the chair next to her.

He hands it over to her, and she sees him push the sleeves of the sweater up his forearms.

“Scotch sounds great,” she agrees, opening the file.

When he stands again she watches his walk back around the desk and realizes that she actually does probably have a pretty good idea of what her boss looks like beneath those suits.

If she wants to let herself think about him like that.

And he’s practically not even her boss anymore.  They’re running operations side-by-side.

“Here you go,” he says, handing over a glass to her, taking his seat.

“Why did you give up your suits?” she asks, taking a sip.

He seems a little thrown by the question, but thinks it over.  “It felt like one of those things I had to give up.”

“Because you didn’t want to ask for help with your ties?”

“Because I didn’t think me wearing a tie was a good enough reason to burden someone else,” he answers, swirling around the alcohol in his glass.

“I would’ve helped,” she replies, sounding a little disappointed.

“I’m sure you would’ve.” He hangs onto a thought for a moment before drinking.

She crosses her legs in the chair and then sets down her drink on the desk to open the file and look down at the notes on it in her lap.

“Wow, you really _do_ hate digital,” she smiles, reading them over.

“You said you wanted to keep it private-“

“I know, Phil,” she answers, looking at the careful handwriting. “That was a joke-“

She flicks her eyes up at him to find him staring at her.

“Did you get that checked out?” he asks after a moment, moving his gaze to her arm.

“It’s just a scratch,” she frowns, touching her fingers over it. “Not deep.”

She knows him too well. He gets up to hunt around one of the shelves for the medkit and points with his finger to the desktop.

“Sit.” He orders.

She puts the file down in the chair and does as asked, hopping on, then swings her legs out a little until he notices.

“Why don’t you put some music on while you’re at it?”

He drops the medkit down on the desk next to her and then he does as ordered, and stops in front of the little table where the player sits.

“Any requests?” he asks politely.

“Something slow,” she says thinking it over, rolling her neck and shoulders. “I’ve had a long day.”

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath as the first notes of the horn fill the office and his hands move the medkit closer to him and open it, filing through the contents.

He takes out the hypo spray and the cleaning solution, his fingers moving carefully over her skin as he does what he’s probably done in the field a thousand times.

“You have really gentle hands,” she says, as they press a protective patch over the cut, and she finds herself licking her lower lip nervously as he stops moving.

“All done,” he tells her, finishing up, snapping the kit shut.   His finger brushes along her jaw and it startles her, but she follows the motion upward until she’s met his eyes.

“Now. Where were we?” he asks.

She stands up off the desk without hesitation and pulls his mouth down against hers, and he’s already kissing back. Or was it that he’s kissed her first after all?

It’s blindingly hot, and she’s realizing that she’s never been as gentle with her hands as he is.  He doesn’t seem to mind, since he gives her his tongue the minute her hands push his hips greedily against the desk until he’s trapped between the two and groans at the contact.

Muscles in his leg tense under her hands, her nails digging into the denim along his inner thigh and her face leans into the cup of his right hand and then lets him turn her back towards him at an angle to kiss her more thoroughly. 

He leans himself against the desk to catch his composure and to slip his fingers carefully through her hair, as fingers toy at the edge of his sweater.

“My room, or yours?”

 

 

#

His.

Because it was closer.  And also, she’s pretty sure she left her workout clothes on her floor, and-

“Fuck.  Daisy.”

And she forgets whatever else she was thinking, because he’s grinding her up against the wall, and she’s pretty sure someone in the corridor had to hear that _thunk_.

He’s got his lips pressed against her neck and is sucking and biting, but it’s careful and teasing, like he’s building up to something.

Oh.  That.

She can feel how hard he is, even through the field pants she’s wearing.  She wants to know just how much and slips her fingers between his waist and his belt.

“Can you take this off?” he asks, with his lips parted near her ear, as his fingers pull at the fabric of her tank top.

“I’m not wearing anything underneath,” she says, brushing her thumb across his hipbone.

“Oh, I know,” he nods, beside her and smiles, drawing up his hand beneath the bottom of the tank.

She laughs a little at him. “The support’s built into the suit and-“ Then groans when his whole hand suddenly cups her breast and squeezes.

“Phil-“

“Off,” he says, kissing her hard into the wall, then pulling back.

She slips the tank over her head and watches him suck on his lower lip like he’s contemplating something very dirty and puts her hand out against his chest when he moves back in.

“Your turn.”  He sighs and starts to pull his sweater up.  “Uh uh.  Jeans.”

He takes apart the belt very quickly and slides the jeans down his hips and lets her eyes hang on his bulging erection curving around in his boxer briefs before she looks up at him again.

“Those, too,” she smiles, tapping a finger against her lips.

He’s slightly amused as he pulls the waistband away from him and slips the briefs down as his cock bounces free and back up.

That was definitely hiding beneath his suits.

She steps closer to him and kisses him messy and deep and wraps a hand around him, dragging a pleading noise out of the back of his throat as she slides her palm up and back down the length of him.

“Bed,” she tells him, walking back with him so he won’t stumble and he sits on the edge then takes his shoes and socks off along with everything else.

As she works her pants down he pulls her towards him and brushes his parted lips against her stomach, pressing his face between her legs against her panties.

Her fingers tighten in his hair when he doesn’t stop, and she feels his tongue up against the fabric.

“Lace,” he speaks against her, the puff of heat makes her toes curl. Like this was something he’s put some thought into.

“Yeah,” she says, staring down at him and brushing her thumb against his mouth.  “Do you want to take them off?”

“Not yet,” he replies, closing his eyes and pulling them aside so he can press his tongue against her clit.

She groans and feels her legs get shaky, holds onto one of his shoulders as a finger slowly presses inside of her.

How is it so easy for her to do this with him?  After waiting for _so_ long. Too long with other, more impatient lovers.  It’s been so frustrating, and this isn’t-

All it takes is for him to curl up with his finger and he finds the right spot and uses his mouth until she comes.  Quietly, and then she lets go realizing her nails have dug into his shoulder.

“I’m-“ she starts, all flushed and trying to catch her breath. “Did I hurt you?” she goes on, watching the marks fade.

“No,” he says, holding her arms and then guiding her down until she’s straddling his lap, trying to stop the silly smile spreading over her face.

“Was that okay?” he asks, as she buries her face against the sweater fabric on his shoulder.

“Yes,” she answers, all muffled, then draws back to see his eyes.  “Why haven’t we done this before?”

He stares back at her, searching, confounded. “I don’t know.”

“We should get to the bottom of this,” she smiles, kissing him and pushing him backwards until he’s laid out on the bed. “Very. Important. Mystery.”

She says it as she kicks off her pants and shoes and ends up straddling his hips and listens to him hiss at the contact. 

Fingers pool the fabric of the sweater as she pushes it up and he lifts to get it over his head and then helps her toss it aside.

Of course she can’t but notice the scar.  She remembers as she touches it, the first time he told her what Loki had done.  In a way, it brought them together.

There’s also the hair on his chest which she’s only had small, vividly recollected peeks of from beneath his unbuttoned shirts, and a couple of nice nipples and she’s already felt that little dip in his hip with her thumb.

“Are you checking me out?” he chuckles at her.

“I used to imagine what you looked like,” she says with a flick of her eyes. “Underneath those suits.”

His eyes widen and then he grabs her against him with his prosthetic and kisses her open-mouthed as his hand makes swirls around her thigh and her ass.

“I guess you did too?” she laughs.

“I didn’t have to imagine your legs.  You stopped wearing dresses,” he breathes against her. “I was crushed.”

“I’m sorry,” she pauses, not really sorry, as she touches his mouth. “It was an undercover thing.”

“I know,” he admits. “I was a mark.”

“I couldn’t think of you as that,” she confesses, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.  “And you hired me anyway.”

She’s stroking him again, and whatever reply he was going to make is lost to that.  Her hand guides him closer to her, against her stomach, then between her legs.

He holds her carefully as he eases inside her, pressing his hands down against her hips when she relaxes, and they start to move together.

Between gasps he seems like he has something more, and she falls forward and kisses him slowly as he wraps his arms around her back, her mouth moving along the edge of his chin.

“What?” she asks against his ear.

“I would do it all over again,” he promises.

 

 

#

When she wakes up later and brushes her hair out of her eyes, he’s sitting at the table beside the bed with a lamp on, reading the file.

“Working?” she asks with a squint of discontent.

“I don’t need that much sleep,” he answers, and follows her as she gets out of the bed and walks over to him to sit down, naked, on his lap.

He’s wearing his t-shirt and sweatpants, and he shifts a little as she leans across to look at the folder all gangly and loose limbed as he rubs his hand along her back.

“You’re going to let me tie your tie, right?” she says, drinking from his coffee cup.

“Does this mean I have to wear suits?” he asks her, as she leans forward still sleepy to kiss his forehead.

“If you want me to wear dresses.”

“I can do that,” he smiles, rubbing the top of her thigh as she turns to set her back against his chest.

He presses a kiss against the back of her neck.


End file.
